No Waste

Rickety tickety tock
Blickety flickety flock
Running around, arms on a clock

Blippety flippety flop
Strippety mippety mop
Running hard
Heart wanting to pop

Racing, keep pacing
Flying, keep trying
Speeding forward ahead of the line

Fingers gripping the life
Out of life
Squeezing, forcing the seeds of
Despair, disdain, dislike, distaste
No waste

My Bedroom

My Bedroom

How strange is it that my bedroom, at 53 years of age, looks like it could also be a 16 year old's?  I guess it is okay since otherwise I am a responsible adult.  The bills get paid on time, I go to work where I am a conscientious employee, and the oil in my car gets changed as recommended by the sticker on the windshield.  

I like to play.  I certainly don't feel my age although there are times when I feel 100.  Have you noticed that my lamps don't match?

  

I am an Introvert

I am introverted.  I talk only when I feel that what I have to say is something of substance.  I will add my input only when there is a large enough lull in the conversation as barging in with my two cents is uncomely.  I will make small talk when the situation forces me into it but am very uncomfortable doing so.  I usually end up kicking myself under the table because of the stupid things that Hai Karate themselves out of my mouth attacking the listener in the brain.  More often than not I walk away from the conversation feeling like a moron.

A couple of years ago I was talking with a co-worker and he started to chuckle.  As far as I knew nothing funny was said so I asked him about it.  He very bluntly stated, "You are Sheldon."  For those of you that watch The Big Bang Theory, this needs no explanation.  For those of you that don't watch the show, Google it.

It's weird.  Half of the population thinks I am charming and gets a kick out of me.  The other half are offended by me.  I am actually much less introverted than I used to be.  As a teenager, in social situations it was hard for anyone to get two sentences out of me.  As a young adult, when I went out on my first date with my soon to be husband, he carried the whole conversation all night.  As an adult, I find that I gravitate towards the more outgoing and forthright individuals as they allow me to be me without thinking that I hate them.  I think these types of people find me soothing to be around because while at times I may be a horrible talker, I am always an excellent listener.  Just don't abuse my ears or my patience because while I can be quiet, it doesn't mean I am enthralled or, to the contrary, not being thoughtful, analytic, and empathetic.  Quoting a friend, "Don't let this dumb look on my face fool you."

In a world where being outgoing, friendly, and the life of the party is extolled, us introverts get a bad rap.  Our quietness can be intimidating, unnerving, and misunderstood.  Oppositely, we find those that jump on tables and swing from the ceiling fans gives us cause for burrowing even deeper into our protective shell.

Lastly, please don't confuse introversion with being shy.  I have no problem walking up to you, shaking hands, and introducing myself.  I am unafraid of being judged.  I just find large social situations to be way too stimulating.  For further information on the difference, please click on this link:

http://www.thepowerofintroverts.com/2011/07/05/are-you-shy-introverted-both-or-neither-and-why-does-it-matter/

I once lamented to a friend that I wished I could be more extroverted.  She said to me, "If we all were talkers, who would be there to listen?"

Now let's all channel Julie Andrews and sing, "Getting to know you, getting to know all about you, getting to like you, getting to hope you like me....."

Rules do apply to you, too.

Yesterday morning Poppy and I were in the car waiting for the light to change from red to green.  We were just starting the drive from home to Mom's house, as we typically do on Sundays.

I was the one driving and Poppy would soon start the battle of wills as he believes he should help.  He has full access to look out the passenger side window but instead pointedly tries to cram himself between the steering wheel and me.  Placing his front paws on the steering wheel and his butt on my stomach, he uses my chest to lean back on.  This way he is able to comfortably see the activities in front and to both sides of the car.  This is important to him as he polices the other drivers and with either silence or barking delegates them to either the "Good Driver" or "Bad Driver" categories.  I'm not sure what the parameters are, but he's got the checklist memorized.

This is the first light I encounter when leaving my house.  It is also the longest light on the planet.  I have sat in front of this light for 2 minutes anticipating moving my foot from the brake pedal to the gas.  It really is 2 minutes long.  I have timed it.  This is FOREVER especially on work days!  It is also teeth grinding when you are car number 5 and car number 4 is being driven by Mr. Slow MoFo who takes a 1/2 an hour to move then another 1/2 an hour to make a right hand turn causing you to have to sit through the light again.  The good news is that recently there was a pneumatic road tube counter laid across the road so that traffic volume could be counted and since last week the light doesn't last more than 1 minute tops so just as I am ready to break out into hives from the anticipation the light changes.

It is about 10 am when Poppy and I are at the red light trying to be patient.  We feel pretty good because he knows we are going to see Teddy, the terrier, at Nana's house and I have the upcoming week off of work.  A pedestrian starts to cross the street in the designated crosswalk and then the light turns green.  Depending on the walker's speed, I may have to sit through this light again.  Eventually he makes his way to the other side of the street and the light is still green!  Foot on gas, moving forward, making our way into the intersection and then movement in my peripheral vision causes me to look to my left.  I am still moving forward.  I look up and check.  Yes, my light is green which means the opposing traffic should be stopped at a red light....which they are.  All of the cars are stopped.  What the hell?  It is a bicyclist running a red light.  RUNNING A RED LIGHT.  He is peddling bent over his handle bars in his bicyclist helmet and tight uniform ignoring the red light.

Without braking, he corrects his trajectory and scoots behind me.  What if there was someone behind me?  I continue driving and look in my review mirror while calling this person all kinds of names from the benign moron to more colorful adjectives.  I am experiencing the after-terror adrenaline shakes and my breathing is jagged.  I have to loosen my grip on the wheel and as I come back to being present in the moment I look for Poppy with my hand to check on him.  Sensing something upsetting just happened, he is quiet and his ears are folded down submissively.  I talk to him and tell him everything is okay and he recovers much more quickly than I.  I could have killed that man.

I don't understand why bicyclists don't think the traffic laws apply to them and this is where I get judgmental only because it has been my experience.  It seems that the ones that ride the expensive bikes with the fancy outfits are also the ones that think they are above the rules.  The thick-wheeled bikes being ridden by people in street clothes normally align themselves with traffic. I have even seen them get off of their bikes to walk them across the intersections.

This man put his life in danger and he also could have ruined mine.  For Pete's sake, bicyclists, when you decide to ride in downtown traffic, obey the traffic rules!  I hope what happened had an impact on him but I am not counting on it.  If he didn't learn this time then it wouldn't surprise me the lesson is put in front of him again.

You never have to ask

You never have to ask your dog how much he or she loves you.

Poppy snuggling with Senator

Mom

My mother and I have not been close our whole lives.  It isn't until the past year that we've found peace.  There has always been some kind of weird behavior from my mother towards me that she has a hard time controlling.  She has admitted to it on and off through the past 10 years most recently about three months ago.  She has apologized to me again and again for "not being nice to me" and I know that a large part of it is that she feels that if she had loved me properly and treated me kindly I would not be in the position I am in now.

One of my earliest memories of my mother is when I was somewhere around 4 years old.  I was in the front yard playing while she was taking a nap on the couch in the living room.  This was the early '60s in a small town at a time when it was safe to let your kid do that.  Being curious, I observed a bee a little too closely as it went about it's business in the bushes and I got stung.  Crying, I ran into the house to my mother asking for solace and help. Instead I was told to go back outside and play.  Everything was fine.

I no longer experience emotional pain when I recall this.  With age comes acceptance plus my mother has apologized enough.  She is 79 and I don't want her to be awash in guilt.

The position I am in now is I am making 36% less money in Florida than I did in Baltimore. I live in a house where 95% of the windows are painted shut and the ones that I can open don't stay open unless there is something propped up keeping them that way.  There are termites and the bedroom carpeting, despite my vacuuming efforts, is a luxury spa for fleas.  Since last fall my landlord has promised he will tent the house.

The appliances were new in the '70s except for the microwave that my landlord replaced last year.
Since the old one was part of a stove/oven/microwave combo, the new one sits on a table in the kitchen.

Because I left my abusive alcoholic ex-husband who wouldn't allow the 40 some odd potential buyers into the house I used to own to view it to make a possible $40,000 profit, I have been in the foreclosure process and have been notified I owe a lot of money despite the auctioning off of the house that was a couple thousand short of the asking price.

Getting back to my mother.  I routinely call her on my drive home from work.  It keeps me awake after a long day,  the hour long drive seems shorter, and I can give her the time she wants.  As we were talking yesterday afternoon, Poppy's allergies came up which was followed by the subject of fleas and termites.  My mother with a voice choked with emotion said, "I can't believe a child of mine is living this way."  I told her it was okay and I wasn't ashamed to live where I do.  Of course I wish I was living somewhere nicer but in the end we all die and we can't take it with us.  Whatever we do in our present lives will end and some day we will be back and I hope the next life, having learned what I have in this life, will be cushier.

I have lived through cancer and decisions I made hoping they would patch-up emotional wounds.  I no longer raise my fists in response to fists being raised at me.  I can admit to imperfection without losing my sense of self.  I can cry without feeling less than.  I can feel weak or strong without guilt and/or the sense that I am letting someone down or carrying them.  The only expectations I aim to fulfill are my own; the ones I set for myself.

I love my mother and I accept her.  She is not going to change and she loves me with all of her heart as best she can.  I am going to enjoy and cherish her and sometimes grit my teeth because of her but I will do it until I don't have her anymore.

Rose and Jeff Continued

Jeff could always tell when she was thinking back to the time she nearly lost herself completely.  It made him sad when she did but he would never show her that.  He was her rock and he knew that.  He also knew that she felt guilty about still wanting him to be strong even when facing the prospect of his own mortality.  He wanted her and loved her and needed her as much as he needed to breath.  He knew that she knew but neither one wanted to say it aloud for fear of jinxing the world they created together.

Stained with Red

I never asked you to change for me, to make my life better.  I thought it all would come naturally and a little of it did but it didn't last.  How can I know you if you don't know yourself?  The evil twins and their handmaiden surrounded you.  Your past clung to you like a dying man to a stick in the water wanting to use you to keep it alive.

How is it that my heart still bleeds for you?  For you?  I don't even know you.  The real you.  How is it that the pain of loss is still alive?  I keep thinking I have pulled the knife out only to look down and discover it is still there.  Just a little messier.  The handle a little more stained with red.

Rah-rah!

I am my dog's cheerleader.  When he poops or pees on his puppy pad, I set off the celebratory fireworks and get out my pom-poms.  It is weird.

I always had large dogs.  My whole life, in fact, and that includes when I was a kid.  Wait.  I'm lying.  French poodles are not large dogs but they aren't teeny, either.  They have bladders large enough to hold their pee.

With Poppy everything was different and I had a steep learning curve that required me to sprint up it.  No time to lollygag.  Chihuahuas can't hold it the same way large dogs can.  When told I needed to train him to go on puppy pads, I squidged up my nose.  Say what?  No dog of mine is going to have to use a puppy pad for evah!

Wrong.  It was the best move I made.  It saved the floors that he was peeing on whenever and wherever.  There were no rules.  Walk him at 9:00 where he peed and pooped and then at 9:10 he peed and pooped again in the house at a random location of his choosing.  If it weren't so disgusting it would have been whimsical.

That is why I am his cheerleader when he uses the puppy pads.  It works for us.  I am not ashamed.

It is you I still miss

Folding clothes from the dryer
On the bed with the dog
And his toy

Thinking about one and a half years ago.

Two and a half years ago was the start
I never wanted to part
My soul would tear in two
And bleed when not with you.

The dog walks on the clean shirt
I throw the toy, what a good boy.

Your arms were my nest
The place I found rest
From the outside world of noise.

Then the whole thing changed
Everything was rearranged
Dark gloom descended as
Light backed out the door.

I walked the halls
I bumped into walls
Feeling every misstep and mistake.

No longer willing
No longer able
I asked for your keys
Please put them on the table.

Folded clothes in drawers
Standing, staring at the dog
Bending down for his kiss
It is you I still miss.

Not a Hotty

Apparently I am attractive to Hispanic men or I could chalk it up to percentages because of my neighborhood.

One tried to make conversation with me from his car window as I was walking Poppy.  He had waved me on and then after Poppy and I left the curb he caught me mid-cross with compliments.  We went through the whole "I don't speak Spanish" routine as I dragged Poppy along.  "It is NOT the time to smell things, Popparooni!" my inner dialogue was screaming.  When the dog and I were finally a comfortable distance away the drive said while sticking his head out the car window, "You are beautiful."  It wasn't said with menace or vulgarity.  He was kind of polite, actually.

Another pulled up to the gas pump next to mine early one morning before work.  He smiled at me over his car as I got out of mine, so I smiled back.  "Good morning," he said.  "Good morning," I replied.  With my credit card button punching question answering completed, I lifted the nozzle, chose the lowest grade, and inserted the nozzle in the tank of the car.  I stared at the numbers flying by in the dollar section and compared those to the numbers ambling along in the gallon section.  I felt a pulling in my psyche so I looked over and sure enough this guy was smiling at me.  I smiled back.

Done pumping the gas I ripped my receipt from the machine and started back around my car.  He looked me over and said, "You look nice," in a benign and easy-going way.  "Thank you," I said as I kept walking.  I was starting to feel a little closed in and scrutinized.  Wait a minute here.  I'm wearing jeans shorts and a t-shirt.  I look nice?

"You going to work?" he asked still smiling while holding his cell phone in one hand and the gas nozzle with the other while leaning over the top of his car.
"What?" I asked.      
"Are you going to work?" he asked again.
"Yes," I replied as I lowered myself into the driver's seat.

He said something else but I have no clue what it was because I was closing the car door.  As I drove away a niggle that was in the back of my head came to the forefront.  Did he take my picture with his cell?

Both men were very polite and I didn't feel dirty for having spoken to them.  I didn't feel threatened, either. As a woman, I am always aware of my surroundings.  From Jr. High on it has been drilled into my head to look around, appear confident, and the old stand-by of grab, twist, and pull.  I suppose I have been thinking that at my age and nearing being on the other side of menopause I would have become invisible.  Maybe not.  At least not for these two men.

Keep Calm

You can tell yourself everything is alright and that you're not stressed out.  You're handling everything just fine.  You're an expert at juggling and keeping everyone happy.

Nope.

You're sitting at your laptop and you feel your heart start banging around in your chest.  You have to take deep breaths.  Keep calm.  It's a panic attack.

I don't like the name panic attack because in my personal experience it happens when I am quiet, not panicking.  Heart disease runs in my family so when I had my first one many years ago my initial thought was heart attack.  A co-worker, who was a sympathetic soul, told me to lie down on the office couch because it was a panic attack.  We didn't need to call the paramedics just yet.

Periodically someone will post on Facebook a bare bones explanation of why people have panic attacks and that those that experience them should not be ashamed.  "They are signs of having tried to remain strong for too long."  I cannot argue with that as those are the times I experience them.

My heart and mind voted to have my body, the big mouth, do the talking for them.  "Take it easy.  Don't put so much pressure on us because you are freaking us out!"

Got it.  I'll make some changes.  Thanks.  And sorry.

One Dollar

When I tell people I live near downtown Sarasota, they get all starry eyed as their minds fill up with thoughts of beautiful high-rise condos and amazing sunsets.  Their fantasy melts like hot wax when I tell them my neighborhood is a few blocks to the north of downtown and it is composed of Hispanics, Blacks, and Whites, in that order.  I am not rich.  I don't have a partner, rich or poor.

As their thoughts of utopia wave bye-bye in their mind's rear view mirror, they come back to reality.

Because of Lithuanian descendants, I am dark haired with olive skin darkened even more by the sun.  When I take Poppy out for his walks, it isn't unusual for me to be approached by people.  He is a cutie-pie and we all know it!  They say, "¿Cómo está usted?" or "¿Cómo está?" It has happened enough that now I reply with, "Fine.  You?"  It is when they walk up to me and speak a whole lot of Spanish that I have to respond with, "I don't speak Spanish."

It is an interesting place to live and when I visit my mother, and I do every week, who lives in money-is-no-object suburbia, it is a bit of a culture shock.  There is no blending of the races because everyone is one race...at least that has been my experience so far.  I walk my dog there, too, but usually not alone as my mother has two of her own.  We do it together and our goal is getting to the dog park which is located around the block next to the kid's playground which is located next to the bocce ball area which is located next to the 2 pools and 1 Jacuzzi which are attached to the clubhouse.

What am I trying to say?  I live in a poor neighborhood.  I was in the Save-A-Lot a couple of nights ago for milk and being that it is the closest grocery store I opted for convenience.  As I am walking to my car with a box bottom filled with a few heavy items, I see a man holding money in his hands counting it.  I knew what was going to happen and instead of turning my head signaling that he should not approach me, I kept looking at his unshaven face as I rested the box on my trunk.  As he walked over to me he said, "Ma'am.  Do you have 79 cents?  I am embarrassed to have to ask but I need...."  I couldn't make out exactly what he needed it for but it didn't matter.  Was it the truth anyway?  I would never know.  I opened my wallet and counted my change.  "I only have 54 cents," I said.  His face fell with disappointment and the bubble over his head read,"What am I going to do now?"  He wasn't expecting me to finish my sentence with, "So here is one dollar."  I took it out of my wallet and gave it to him.  As he reached out his hand to take it, he was a bit stunned.  Then thanked me and thanked me again and wished me a great night.  He was smiling and all it took was one dollar.  What he doesn't know is that he made me more happy than I made him.  I felt it best to leave it at that.

Hope, not fear

Sometimes I feel like I am stuck in the middle of a tornado and the air is being sucked out of my lungs by the pressure of the whipping winds, my hair stinging my face.  Sometimes I feel like I am standing on a backwoods country road in the middle of a dark night walking blind feeling my way forward inch by inch not knowing what is ahead.  Sometimes I am under water, anchor tied to my ankle, looking up at the line between sea and air.

It is hope that keeps me going, not fear.  Hope is reaching into my front pants pocket, feeling for the coins gotten by learned lessons I sweated and wept tears to earn. The scar around my neck a badge of courage and proof I know how to fight.  I take out my sword of honor and hold it high as I will not be defeated.  My cloak is peace woven with strands of joy.  My crown is hope.  I will be brave through the wind and the night.

I looked like me!

The other day I looked in the mirror as I was leaving the bathroom and I had to go back and look again.  I could see myself after having not been able to for a very long time.  What was it?  The hair? The lighting?

I studied my reflection analytically instead of emotionally.  Different skin tone?  No.  I looked younger.  That was it.

One of the things that I have been consciously doing is actively unburdening myself to the point of throwing out or giving away things that I no longer need, want, or should have.  At first it was a slow process of calculating decisions like math problems.  Now it has become very easy and with that I have found a sense of freedom.  Just the other day I had to make a decision about something in the kitchen and poof!  Into the trash it went.  I shocked myself!  Anyone who has spent any amount of time with me knows that my decision-making process is arduous and painful as I, a typical Libra, will keep looking at all sides of a problem until eventually narrowing it down to the answer. For those that stampede through making up their minds, it is sheer hell until they jump in, take control, and make the decision for me.  Now I am taking control by letting go and it is working.

The small decisions are no more of this, that, and the other and that is making the larger decisions easier.   I am less burdened.

I have also accepted the fact that I talk to the dog, even when he is sleeping.  I laugh at myself and the things around me more often and more easily.  I allow myself to be goofy.  This is how I am, who I am, and I am happier. I like talking in silly voices.  I enjoy making up stories about the people I see.  I like playing the drums on the steering wheel while I listen to the radio in the car.  It's a long drive to and from work, people!

I am nicer to myself and because I am more accepting of myself I find that I am more accepting of others.  My inner voice is softer.  I don't have to listen to lectures anymore.  Instead I am outside on the playground admiring the pretty wildflowers or watching the sky spin as I ride the spinner.

I looked like me!

And Still

And still
It is no more
We are no more
Waiting for the memories to fade
From sharp to dull
Waiting for the distance to grow
From close to far
Waiting for the pain to cease
From wicked to sweet

I turn my head to the past
Looking back and seeing
What lacked.

I turn my head to the fore
Looking ahead and seeing
What?  More?

Inside room is made
For the music of rest
As Healing knits and sews
Weaves soft light
Into the fabric of my soul.

Alone with Time
Time for the rest
For the peace
So that forward becomes
Now
With a wholeness
A fullness
Awash in cool waters
Springing from the union
Of equality, peace, love, and
Harmony
Understanding, knowing, seeing
Time will bring it.
A bouquet of flowers in a basket.
Time will know
When to let the water flow.

Wow!

Last Sunday I woke up with a huge amount of lower back pain.  My sister, Eve, is an Occupational Therapist and after seeing me trying to get up from a seated position, she asked me specifically where and when it hurt. I went into a blabbering spiel trying to explain it.  She wrapped it up succinctly, "So it hurts when you are transitioning."  Yes!  That's it.  Eve went to work on my back with ice and a massage.  It helped quite a bit but afterward, on a bathroom break, I noticed my eyes were red and thought, "That's weird," and proceeded to go about my business.

The next day I woke up to a god awful headache, still the lower back pain, my eyes hurt, and I had a fever that kept breaking and returning.  Tuesday the same.  Wednesday I tried going into work and had to leave with only 1/2 a day under my belt.  While at work Wednesday, I got an automated call letting me know that my annual endocrinologist appointment was Monday.  Damn.  I had just thought about that in the middle of the night and quickly forgot it.  I needed blood work done prior to the office visit and I didn't have the script.

I got that faxed to me and then after getting home and taking a nap, I figured it was as good a time as any to go get the blood draw done.  Still feeling like dog poo, I ventured out.  

While in the waiting-to-be-checked-in area of the lab, I was able to see the people in the waiting-to-be-pricked/prodded/tested area of the lab.  In the chair closest to my area was an old man with a cane.  He had to be in his eighties and I thought how wonderful that he still gets around on his own.  What strength!  What tenacity!  His name was called and as he got up and started walking with the aid of his cane, he farted not just once but twice and long and loud.  He made neither apologies nor excuses.  He was not embarrassed.  He just kept walking to meet the tech down the hall.  "Wow," I thought with even more respect for the guy.

After I got home, I decided it was time to call my primary care doc.  This thing with the strange combination of symptoms was not getting better.  The Universe was on my side because I got a 9 am appointment for the following day.  That was my second "Wow!" moment of the day.  I can never get in to see her that quickly.

This morning my alarm went off and I wanted to stay in bed.  Pain in back.  Check.  Pain in head.  Check.  Pain in eyes.  Check.  Fever.  Check.  Get your ass up so you can see the doctor.  Check.

Since I have had my fill of doctors, I really only see them as a last resort.  I loved my primary doc in Baltimore and no one will ever be able to take his place.  I could always count on him being honest with me with a sprinkling of sympathy.  He was never brusque plus he was smart.  My heart still goes pitter patter just thinking about him.  Still thinking about him.......

I am still getting used to my relatively new primary doc of 2.5 years.  She is just as smart and just as sympathetic as Doc Baltimore and I know any issues that exist are mine, not hers.  And really, she is a no bullshitter, too.  When she walked into the exam room this morning, (a half an hour after my scheduled appointment time.  She is perpetually late so I mentally prepared myself for it.  My Baltimore doc was never more than 10 minutes late.) she didn't say, "Hello, Nancy.  How are you this morning?"  All she said was, "Nancy."

She knew that for me to come in because I wasn't feeling well there was something really wrong and that was all I needed - her understanding - and she gave it me with simply stating my name.

At what I presumed was the end of the visit because she left the room, my doc had her assistant come in to draw blood.  Two pokes later he had what he needed.  The second item on the list was getting me in to see an eye doctor to rule out some suspicions.  I could hear my doc speaking to her assistant - did I have my own eye doctor?  He knocked and popped back in my room to ask. Well, I saw a guy at Walmart that I had to go back to for a second eye exam because he screwed up the first eye exam so I don't think he counts.  The next thing I know he is asking me if I can go to an 11:25 appointment to an eye doctor just down the street.  "Why, yes!  Yes, I can."  Wow.  This is all working out and going smoothly.  To the eye doctor I go!

I get there early but no matter.  I watch the TV showing sea creatures walking around the bottom of the ocean floor set to classical music and is that really what I am seeing?  Is one sea creature eating another sea creature???  I fill out the paperwork, an assistant leads me to an exam room where she does not have fun trying to get drops in my eyes.  That nasty job done, she leads me out and we stop at a room with low lights that has 4 chairs and 2 people sitting across from each other.  They are mother and daughter and I know that because I saw them in the waiting area.  Instead of telling me to sit there, she tells me to sit back in the waiting area that is all windows and very bright.  Huh?  After I have seated myself she walks up to me and says that she didn't think I would want to sit there with all of those people.  What??  Of course I want to sit there.  I will be in pain otherwise.  She leads me back to the low light room as my eyes dilate.  The mother moves her seat to next to her daughter and I sit across from both.  It didn't have to be awkward.  After a bit, a different assistant takes me to a different exam room.  "Please sit in the big chair," I hear for the second time.  Inside I laugh as being told that makes me feel like a toddler.

After the drops, the dilation, and the exam, the scary things were ruled out by the eye doctor.  Whew!  No bad news but still no explanation.  The final stop is to get the x-ray which is located just down the street but the other direction.

It is noon when I drive up and the hours posted on the door indicate they are open from 8 am to 5 pm.  Cool.  I walk in and am told their tech, singular, just went to lunch, will be back at 1 pm, and I am more than welcome to  fill out the paperwork and wait or come back.  If I choose to leave and return my #1 spot will be saved.  I give the door a dirty look. My first thought is to leave, get a quick lunch and return with the promise no one will take my spot.  Hmmm....I trusted the door and look what happened.  I opted to stay, watch TV, and read a magazine.

As I'm sitting watching the news and not crustaceans eating each other, two copier repairmen walk in.  Why do they all look the same?  Does that sound awful of me? They are nerds in super hero capes as they are called when there is trouble and they always fix the problem.  

So, it was a long day.  I'll go back to work tomorrow.  I'll talk to my primary doctor tomorrow.  Oh, one last thing, my doc has no idea what I've got.  In the end, if nothing is discovered from all of the testing, we will chalk this one up to some kind of virus that I should be able to kick in about 10 days.  Yay.

Love is love is love

Sometimes Poppy likes to be held like a baby.  He nestles in my arms with his little head pressed against my neck and I rub his back.  When he is in my arms like this, I get very peaceful and calm.  I end up softly singing to him while gently rocking back and forth as I sit.  Half the time I think that if anyone saw me doing this they would think I had lost it.  The other half replies, "I don't care."

I held my kids like this.  I sang to them and I rocked them.  With my son it was mostly in the middle of the night when he couldn't get back to sleep.  With my daughter it was mainly trying to get her sleepy enough to take her afternoon nap.  I loved the feel of their small bodies pressed to my chest.  The smell of their heads and the feel of their hair as I tilted my head down to kiss theirs.  When Poppy requests this kind of time with me, I do it as much for him as I do it for me.

The only other person Poppy cuddles with like that is my mother.  When we visit sometimes she walks around her house holding him and talking to him.  He loves it!  My mother calls him, "Pee Wee" or "Peaty".   It's very cute.

When we were having our quiet time this morning, a very clear memory came popped in my head. I was very young and my family was at our summer camp, aka Camp Toothacres because almost every male in our family was a dentist.  Something happened that got me all in a twitter.  My older sister, Reesa, saw it as a golden opportunity to tease me. Since she is three years older I did not have the vocabulary needed to fight back so I screamed at her whatever I could muster.  This was even funnier to her.  I must have been loud enough that my father appeared out of nowhere and scooped me up into his arms, cooed to me, and rubbed my back as he walked with me.  At 53 I can still remember how it felt physically and the sweet relief that washed over my heart and mind. My father was my savior and I was complete.

Reesa tried to tell him why I was awful and he just said that I was little.  That took the wind out of her sails.  Poor Reesa!  As the oldest of 4 children, she was always put in the position of having to understand except when I would bite her but that's a whole other story for another time.

I have a lot of memories of my father.  This is one of my favorites and I think this is why there are princess stories.  Dad was the original prince and as little girls grow up, they want to feel that same kind of love and protection from their mates.

You're how old?

This afternoon I met with our payroll company representative.  He stops in about once a year.  If we were located in a more civilized part of the world we would probably see him more often as he enjoys the opportunity to talk face-to-face with us.  He always sticks a thermometer in our mouths.  "How's it going?  Any problems?"  No fever or ailments evident so he talks about the other products the company offers its clients.

I am either a salespersons wet dream or worst nightmare depending on the salesperson's style.  I will be blunt and up front and won't waste your time.  If you are an arm twister hard sell type just fuhgeddaboudit. I'm not budging so back off.

Poppy and I were the only ones in the office when he showed up for our meeting.  Poppy, being the LCF greeter for the day, met him at the door and decided he was OK.  "Entrez, s'il vous plait," said Poppy with a very fake French accent.  I looked at our rep, shook my head and said, "Chihuahuas....."

So, the rep (I'll call him Bob since I shouldn't use his real name) and I are talking while Poppy fell asleep in my arms bored out of his gourd when all of a sudden something very strange happened.  Bob and I are looking at a Simple IRA presentation on his tablet when Bob turns to me and says, "You're in your early 30s."  Say what?!

"You're not serious, right?  You're just trying to be nice."

"No.  I'm being serious.  I'm not trying to goof on you.  I could have sworn you told me you were born in 1978," Bob says as he looks at my face as if for the first time.  I know he's calculating something like the percentage of laugh lines times the number of grey hairs divided by visible wrinkles and thinking....isn't that her age???

"I'm 53," I say back.  He says, "Really?"

Just then a recent memory smacks me side the head.  I remembered saying yesterday to a friend of mine,"I hate the way I look.  I didn't used to look like this."  You see, my dears, when I had my neck dissection in 2010, a whole bunch of lymph nodes were removed from my neck.  This caused a fluid traffic jam in my face and neck because the fluid drainage highways no longer existed.  In order to help the fluid drain from my head and face, every day I do a massage of my neck and shoulder area to try to push the fluid along.  I hate it but if I don't the swelling in my face and neck is even more pronounced.  I hate the way I look because my face and neck are perpetually puffy.

I was embarrassed by what I said yesterday and how I feel every time I look in the mirror and Bob thinking I was 20 years younger than I really am was a kick in the pants and a wake-up call.  First, I need to stop being so critical of myself.  Secondly, I need to remember that I am alive and so far have survived cancer.  Thirdly, why is Poppy speaking French and not Spanish?
 

It's the law

One night last week, after working all day, driving an hour to get home, feeding the critters, and walking the dog, I ventured back out of the house to make a Publix run.  It is a short drive and I managed to find a most excellent parking spot.  After I got out of the car and started walking to the store entrance, I was nearly shoulder to shoulder with a member of law enforcement.  He confidently and with an air of grandiose ego law enforcement obnoxiousness moved ahead of me.  My immediate reaction was my gut clenching with annoyance but then I shot his back with a quick once over.

His head was a buzz cut and his uniform was dark green.   He looked surprising old to still be on the streets and not doing desk work.  Maybe he just isn't that good and never got promoted.

Sitting low on his waist he had on his super hero belt with all of its interesting and deadly gadgets intact. I bypassed his ass.  I was just not interested.  Then I saw his shoes.  What the heck?!  They were so shiny and perfect in their patent leather awesomeness!  Light rays from the Publix signage bounced off of them.  How does a cop, or sheriff's office deputy, or whatever manage to keep his shoes so clean?  Did he not have to run down any bad guys?  Did he not have to ummm....do his JOB.....and in the process get his shoes dirty?

The Publix near my house is small.  Instead of visiting and feeling regular sized, one feels like they are a part of a dollhouse.  I'm not sure what they were thinking when they decided to move into the space.  Maybe it was, "Let's find enough space to stock it with half the stuff we normally sell so when people walk the aisles they won't have trouble deciding what to buy because there isn't much stuff."  To make up for the lack of space to put stuff and sell stuff, someone decided to make the entry area unnecessarily large.  (Is this the same as when men buy large trucks?)

So, I'm still behind Mr. Law Enforcement when he stops to pick up a hand basket.  I need a basket too so I stop.  I wait as he chats up the homeless population 4 deep sitting on the long bench against the wall that one must walk by in order to get into the second door which leads the shopper to the inner sanctum of shopping.  As Mr. L. E., officer to you, is talking I am staring at the pile of hand baskets willing him to get started.  He reaches down and lifts up the top basket and I am thinking, "Finally!" but wait!  He lifts up the basket under the top basket, too.  He then lifts in unison the top two baskets and takes the 3rd one down.  What?  WHAT?

Does her really think the 3rd one down is cleaner, newer, better?  Why is the 3rd one down better?  Have the germs had more time to die on it?  Then it dawned on me.  That's why his shoes are so clean.  One word - OCD.  Okay, not one word but one acronym.  Anyway, he's a little spit shine crazy, isn't he?

Now it was my turn to pick up a basket.  I looked in the top one and no garbage was in it so I took it.

Good Men

Yesterday morning I took Poppy to the vet's office to see if he met the 5 lb minimum weight for Trifexis, a medication that prevents heartworm, kills fleas, and controls worms in one easy pill. It was very busy with the line 3 people deep waiting for the one person left manning the front desk trying to keep his cool while handling all of our needs. 

As Poppy and I waited patiently in line, he vacillated between wanting to be in my arms and wanting to be down on the floor. Up, down, up, down. Well, during one of the "down" times, he decided it was also a good time to poop. A couple barely out of their twenties sitting with a cuddly box of newborn puppies had front row seats. The husband, wearing his Sarasota corrections uniform, said, "I've got this." He walked to the nearby bathroom and brought me out paper towels. I took one, bent down and retrieved the poop and when I stood back up I saw he was standing there with another paper towel in hand. He said, "You can put it here," as he held out his hand. I handed it off to him and he finished taking care of the mess in the bathroom. I think I must have thanked him 5 times.

When he came back out of the bathroom, he walked over to his wife and said, "I washed my hands. Can I see one of the puppies?" She reached in the box and held one up to him and he kissed its little head.

That, my friends, was awe inspiring to me. His wife didn't say, "Honey, go help that woman out." He volunteered for the job because he wanted to, because he could, because he thought it was the right and good thing to do. He was johnny-on-the-spot. To him it was probably in-consequential, but to me it was fantastical! I think my heart even grew a size.

P.S. Poppy weighs 5.1 lbs., or possibly 5.2 lbs. Hard to get a good read on a moving target.

I WANT A COWBOY

I want a cowboy.
His jeans are soft from wear.
I want a cowboy.
Leather gloves and leather belt.
I want a cowboy.
He is true, kind, and strong.
I want a cowboy.
He knows right from wrong.

His mind is clear.
His skin is tan.
His heart knows love
For beast and man.

I want a cowboy.

Be True to Yourself

As we grow and mature, we are told many things in our lives in regard to how we should live, what we should believe, and the correct way to think and to act. I could go on and on but it is too nauseating to try. 

Unless one is a psychopath, most of us are born with an innate knowing. Gut feelings. Intuition. We are taught to not trust those feelings but instead to rationalize. This is especially true for women. How many times did you know something, talk yourself out of it, then realize you were correct? Be at peace and listen to that inner voice. We are more than flesh and blood. Our spirits live in our bodies. Your gut, your intuition will develop as you learn to listen to it and trust it. You inherently know what is right, what is good. 

Just be true to yourself. That is all I am asking.

Beauty Comes from the Soul

People, friends and strangers alike, will always have an opinion about how one should dress, how one should act, and what one should think. They formulate these based upon their own personal experiences, upbringing, social stigmas, level of insecurity, and level of love. Tattoos, hair color, hair style, clothing, and makeup are one's personal expression of inner self. If people, friends and stranger alike, can't hack it, it is their problem. You need not take that on and integrate it into your self worth. Beauty comes from the soul.

Green Eyes

I looked into his eyes and realized they were the most beautiful shade of green.  A deep forest green, depending on the light.  And then he smiled and oh, my.  I was lost.  I was gone.  The dimple in his chin was disarming. 

It wasn't until we went to the beach later that day did I realize something deeper happened when we met.  A shifting in my soul.  Like a seatbelt being buckled. Click.  I would never be the same.  I was connected to him.  My soul recognized him.  It wasn't my heart or my mind but deep within me - I knew him. 

I recently noticed his eyes again.  Such a beautiful shade of green.  A deep lush green found in the woods.  With love they looked back at me.

Time

The soreness and the pain
Must be worth the strain
To make the future better
To make the future last

The sadness and the tears
Pushing down the fears
To make the future better
To make the future last

Learning to be in the now
Shoulders heavy as I plow
To make the future better
To make the future last

Dancing to the music
Sometimes feeling sick
The crowd disperses
Dizzy, yelling curses
Raising my fist
Rage, feeling pist

Ending with exhaustion
Acceptance is my station
To make the future better
To make the future last

Aunt Audrey

Tomorrow my sister Eve, my mother, and I are driving down south to the East Coast to join my cousins and others to say our final farewell to my Aunt Audrey.  I don't know how else to put it except there was an affinity, an understanding, between my aunt and I.

 

Growing up she wasn't my only aunt and even though she lived the furthest away whenever I had the opportunity to spend time with her I always felt the most comfortable and accepted by her.  She laughed the easiest and had a way of making light of situations that instead of making me feel belittled for feeling so heavy I felt the load ease up and saw that maybe I was just a smidgen too serious about the whole thing.  Even though she was no pushover she never made me feel that I was any less when my introverted ways seemingly held me back.  She accepted me and didn't try to change me.  She challenged my thinking by talking to me and putt out other perspectives in front of me.  She knew I would think about what she said and make an informed decision that would be mine.  

 

So, I loved her not only because she was my mother's sister or my cousins' mother but because of how she loved me.  She knew she always had a place in my heart and I knew I was loved by her.

 

Goodbye, Aunt Audrey.  I'll see you again.

And now a word from our sponsor

If anyone is keeping up with my posts, you probably think I am a lunatic with wild mood swings.  I am actually someone very hurt from a freshly ended relationship and trying to find solace in writing.  It doesn't matter if I write about something funny, something sad, something true, or fiction.  If I am writing then I am helping to rid myself of the painful infection that keeps trying to build up in my bloodstream. 

I am mad at myself for feeling like this.  I should be happy it is over after all I am the one that ended it.  For months it had deteriorated until I had to cry uncle.  Even so, it is a loss and I must allow myself to grieve and give myself permission to one minute feel riddled with bullet holes and the next laughing.  I think part of the problem is I am normally more in control of my emotions and this time they are guiding the ship over rough waters making me seasick. 

Thanks for being there.  Thanks for sharing my life with me.

I Bet You Don't Even Care

My aunt passed away this morning.
I'm so sad.
You were supposed to be here.
I bet you don't even care.

You left months ago.
So hard to let go.
I should hate you but I don't.
My mind is willing but my heart won't.
I bet you don't even care.

Rose and Jeff cont.

She was happy yet scared.  How selfish was it of her that as Jeff faced the surgery that he needed to save his life she was worried about how she would once again continue on making a life for herself without the one she loved.  She thought back again and compared the two.  Now was different from then. 

She had loved Tim with every molecule of her body.  From the first time she saw him, something fantastical and strange happened and she felt complete.  Those feelings of searching for something, needing something else that she couldn't make sense of always playing like a recording on repeat had left her.  They just weren't there anymore.  That is why on that day when he was drunk and took the car keys she thought her life had ended, too.  She thought she would never recover from the loss and the guilt but mostly from the pain.  The pain was what was overwhelming.  That part of herself that she finally found and reveled in as it snapped easily into place into her core had been ripped from her.  Before meeting him she knew she was missing something but it was undefinable.  After that awful night she knew exactly what it was that she was missing and that she would never have it back.  The incompleteness drilled deeply through her heart and kept going until it made a cavern in her soul.  That was why she could hardly get out of bed.  That was why she didn't care if she ate.  Her cat, Lovey, was the only companionship she could tolerate.  Her therapist was the one that pulled her up and helped her to find herself again.

Rose heard Jeff's footsteps as he reached the screen door.  He walked as if he were a much larger man.  "Hey, Sweetheart.  You OK," he asked as he looked at her through the mesh.

Rose swiveled in the chair and got up.  "Yep.  Hungry?"

At Home

I ended up bringing the car into the dealership this morning as it was hiccuping. $700 later it is still there being worked on. I can't really complain because they are 2006 original parts that are being replaced and the car has been as solid as a tank. The critters are happy to have their Mom home and we all took a nap together. I also dusted with Poppy watching incite-fully and all-knowing. He was very Zen about it until he took the opportunity to grab the duster and run.

Happy Birthday To Me

Just putting one foot in front of the other is laborious.
Just breathing is hard.
How does one push forward when the wheel on your wheelbarrow is cripplingly bent?
No amount of glue, duct tape, or mending can close up the gash.
The cherished memories are rammed by the hurtful ones causing explosions of flames creating burnt-edged holes in my heart, mind, and soul.
My North Star has gone missing.
My blanket guarding me against the cold was lifted by the storm.
Happy Birthday to me.

Poppy and the drive thru

Tonight Poppy experienced his first not-so-fast food drive thru.  This is a neighborhood restaurant and not a McDonald's/Burger King type of place but they still have the huge menu and speaker.  

I have to digress here so that you have a more complete picture of the situation.  Poppy and I have a very efficient system for when I am the driver and he is the passenger.  I place him in the passenger seat and then I get in the driver's seat.  We have done this enough that Poppy has learned what "Move over" means.  Time is of the essence with Poppy so he doesn't like to waste it and before I have driven 10 feet he has made his way across the car and has at least his head in my lap.  In just a quick minute he will have his body in my lap and then he scoots his way up my chest and uses my cleavage as a shelf upon which he sits comfortably.  If I am not paying attention, I don't realize what he is doing until his little body is blocking my view of the steering wheel.  That sounds dangerous, you say?  Well of course it is dangerous!  He sticks himself to me as if he is made of Velcro and it takes much coordination on my part to unstick him, place him back in the passenger seat, and keep my eyes on the road.  To answer your next question, I know they make doggie harnesses that keep both driver and dog passenger safe.  One of these days I'll get one.  That is after I have balanced my checkbook and dust.  

I roll down my window and place my order.  Poppy tries to look out my window to see who is there.  Who am I talking to?  Since he is a little Chihuahua, that puzzle will remain unsolved.

We turn the corner to drive around to the side of the building and see that another car is ahead of us and waiting for their meal.  I push Poppy back into the passenger seat, get my purse, pull out my wallet, and feel pretty relaxed as I count out the exact change and bills.  Poppy is quite interested in looking out my window and tries again to crawl up onto my chest.  The car is in Park and my left hand is holding the change, my right is holding the bills.  I let him sit there until we are able to move up to the window.  I gently shove him off of me and once we are in position in front of the window he gently shoves himself back against me.

The restaurant worker slides open the window and just as she repeats the amount I owe Poppy hits the jackpot.  A person.  A person that is very close to the car!  Who said she could be there?  With is teeny Chihuahua bark he lets her know he is the mighty and powerful!  Luckily the girl finds this as funny as I do as I hand her the money.  I place Poppy back in the passenger seat.  As I said, this restaurant isn't trying to be fast so we patiently sit in the car.  Poppy is wondering what the heck is all of this and why are we here and will the lady return?  Soon enough my dinner is passed to me and the car fills up with the smell of food.  Poppy's face quickly turns from curiosity to recognition as the food bag passes over him and is placed onto the floor of the passenger side.  Ohhhhhhh.  So this is why we are here.  How magical!  When can we eat?

 

 

Rose and Jeff continued

Rose took a seat in one of the wicker chairs on the porch as she watched Bill make a mad dash to the nearest bush and lift his leg.  It was that lovely time of early evening when the creatures that are active during the day start getting quiet preparing for the night ahead and the nocturnal ones haven't yet woken up with a yawn and a stretch.  When it was quiet like this and Rose was alone she always ran an internal diagnostic of her feelings and life status.  It was a habit she felt didn't need changing.

Hearts

Hearts are like M and M's. When the hard covering is broken the soft inside becomes vulnerable so be careful that you aren't walking around with a hammer but instead have a soft touch.

Rose and Jeff Continued

Rose turned her head to look at the bedside clock. It was 6:30. The dog had to be fed and let out. Dinner had to be made, too, but she didn't want to be out from under Jeff's arm. If felt heavy, strong, and good. She looked back up at the ceiling and as she indulged her memories she closed her eyes.

She was back at the kitchen table finishing off the toast with jam. Her mouth watered and she had to swallow. She opened her eyes again to survey the room and make sure of her surroundings. She should really get up and take care of the dog. Guilt got the best of her and she slipped out of Jeff's arms.

Bill sat up at the sound of Rose getting out of bed and stared at the doorknob willing it to turn and the door to open. Tada! “C'mon, Bill. Let's go out,” said Rose as she got down and gave Bill a hug around his soft furry neck. They walked down the hall together through the kitchen and out the door.

Test Results, etc.

My latest cancer test results were not what I expected or wanted.  The numbers were higher than the last time I was tested a little over a year ago.  It took me weeks to absorb this bad news.  It wasn't the doctor that called me but his nurse and she had no idea why I wasn't dancing in the streets over the results after all, they were less than 1.  Nothing gets done when the results are under a 1. 

She didn't know I've been through this yearly number increase before and ended up needing a second more extreme surgery.  On top of that I have some sort of knobby growths one on the top of my left foot and the other on my forehead near my hairline.  I've had three courses of radioactive iodine treatment so secondary cancer is in the back of my mind.  I see my general practitioner today to talk to her about that and also getting refills on prescriptions.

My personal life is full of crazy shit including Jim's bat shit-ass crazy ex-wife.  My mom is slowly losing her mind and with that even more of her histrionic personality presents itself as the "I shouldn't say that" filter erodes.  I am in the throes of foreclosure because of my bat shit-ass crazy ex-husband.

"Drugs are bad, mmkay?"

So, the good things are that Jim and I are seeing an excellent nurse/social worker.  She is definitely heaven sent with that combination!  I have the best boss ever!  I have the best dog ever!  Let's just end this on a high note, mmkay?

Negatives

Unheard

Unloved

Abused

Misused

Lied to

Misplaced

Disgraced

Rose & Jeff

Rose was standing at the kitchen sink washing the dishes that had been left over from breakfast and lunch.  Her hands were warm from the sudsy water.  She was wearing a cotton dress that felt soft as the air from the open side door blew in gently making the fabric kiss her legs.  She looked out the kitchen window and smiled as her gaze took in, once again, the open fields that were her backyard. She would never tire of the scene.  It is what she always wanted.  As she watched the tall grass sway in the breeze, peace filled her heart and quieted her mind. 

 

She was lost in thought when she heard his boots on the porch and then the squeak of the screen door as he opened it.  The smell of cut hay walked in with him and with five quick steps Jeffery was next to her.  His right arm wrapped around her waist as with his left he turned the sink faucet off.  Kissing her on the cheek and then the back of her neck her body relaxed into his.  He had worked outside all day and sunshine clung to his plaid shirt.

 

“Hey, Girlie,” he said with both arms now wrapped around her waist. They were in their early 40s but she felt like a teenager whenever he was close.

 

“Hey, big man. How's your day going,” Rose asked as she turned around to face him.  He kept her tight in his arms.  She unbuttoned his shirt so that she could run her fingers through his chest hair.  It was soft and curly and she loved it.  She rubbed her face where her fingers had been and inhaled deeply.  Jeff always smelled good to her whether just coming in from a hard day’s work outside or fresh from the shower.   She felt Jeff’s kiss on the top of her head and then his chin as he rested it there.  She knew he was looking out the kitchen window and probably thinking about next week.  His surgery loomed large even though they both tried to not let it ruin their time together now.  With that thought she went from light to heavy.

 

Jeff took her by the arms and pushed her away from him just enough to be able to see her face.  She automatically tilted her head up. As she looked into his eyes her smile started off as brave and then crumpled.  Rose’s eyes filled with tears even though she wanted so badly not to give in to the desperation she hated to admit she felt. She couldn't imagine life without him. After all that she survived in the past she couldn't lose Jeff. All of those times when she forced herself to keep going when all she wanted to do was lie down and die - she didn't know if she would be able to keep going this time. Jeff tucked her protectively under his arm and they walked down the hall to the bedroom. Their dog, a big black German Shepard/Black Lab mix named Bill, had watched the whole thing from under the kitchen table. He got up and padded behind them nails clicking on the tile floor. The hallway afforded carpet and it was quiet again. Outside of the bedroom door he laid down and rested his big head between his front paws.

Break

I am at my best with you, at my worst with you.
Satisfying happiness, intense pain.

The highs and lows are wearing me out, breaking my heart, bleeding me to death.

Feeling ugly, not wanted, not needed, not heard.

Bodies in the same airspace circling the same skies but not meeting.

The petals are falling off the flower that used to be so vibrant and alive.

The edges are drying up and hardening.

As each cut clots the scar remains, imperfect healing felt with each movement.

The lying did me in. Felt so stupid. Still do.

How do I find my place again? Suspicions were right.

Wish I could bathe in healing waters. Go back. Can't.

Anger is the blanket covering the sheets of hurt.

My fingertips are white holding on. For how long?

Milk Bottle Happiness

My heart is as full as a milk bottle sitting in the sink

Standing upright under an open faucet

The water running up and over the lip

And falling over the sides

Cleaning the bottle from the inside out.

I always thought this kind of happiness

Was only for those I saw on the other side of my sadness

But never for me.

Now I know. It is for me, too.

Bowling

I went bowling this past Sunday with some very special people. It had been a very long time (Ummm.....probably close to 30 years???) since I last laced up a pair of rental shoes. They were iridescent green and orange. Pretty, in fact, and so unlike the ones I remember. They also fit reasonably well. Again, very much unlike the ones I remember. As it turns out, that isn't the only thing that has changed about bowling.

I remember red vinyl covered tubular bumpers that were placed in the gutters to help novice bowlers feel better about their yet unrealised mastery of the game. Now there is a fence-like structure that pops up from the floor on each side of the alley. An ill aimed ball will bounce from side to side as it hits the metal fence and careen wildly down the alley, depending upon the force of the throw, and I do mean throw, of the bowling ball. These fences not only keep the ball out of the gutter but also act as a pinball machine directing it towards the pins. Our vinyl tubes didn't do that.

My fraternal grandmother, Nana Anna, loved bowling so much she belonged to a league. She took me out one afternoon, just her and me, to teach me how to bowl. Allow me to rephrase. She tried to teach me how to bowl. As you take three steps forward you swing the ball back and then forward while keeping your eyes on the arrows on the floor your wrist straight bending at your knees at the last step with perfect timing as you let go of the ball as your back leg shoots out helping with balance and aim.

Nana Anna was very patient with me up until the point where she could see that there weren't any words of advice that could help me to not twist my wrist at the last second sending the ball on a crooked journey. I think that is the only time my much beloved grandmother gave up on my success. I think she figured it wasn't worth the worry and concentration on my part so why keep pressing?
I thought a lot about Nana while I was bowling. My heart still misses her. On the other hand my heart was also made happy by the fun I had with Jim, Jaime, Sierra, and Jax.

Lastly, my left butt cheek is in pain! I thought I would be feeling it in my right arm not my butt! I am not looking forward to what it will be like in the morning. I'll take it, though, as I wouldn't want to give up the fun I had today.